These Little Horrors, These Little Hours
by stormsandsins
Summary: Emma's hymen doesn't need rescuing this time around, but she calls Blair to investigate someone in her friend Muffy's family. #2 in the Behold Man series.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note**: Well, here we go with the second _Behold Man_ fic :) Heavy spoilers for 2x09. Dark, heavy content as well. Not yet, though, but it will come later, so kids should not be reading this.

Oh, I almost forgot. Check my profile for the complete list of _Behold Man_ fics. I'll admit it's not that long right now, but it's bound to get so in the long run.

Enjoy!

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**THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS**

_You can only take so much. You can only take so much.  
Before you turn to stone._

_- Greycoats, Watchman, What is Left of the Night?_

_I need to talk to you RT NOW. Shit. – M._

Emma Gorbman flung her phone back onto its stand on her bedside table and fell back in bed, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her duvet. What now? What could be so freaking important that Muffy needed to wake her up at… Emma grunted and leaned over just far enough to see the time on the tiny screen of her cellphone… like nine o'clock in the morning? Jesus, she should still be playing lead female in that really hot dream she'd been having starring Shia Leboeuf.

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, though, Emma reckoned she wouldn't be falling asleep again and much less have a chance to continue with Shia where they'd left off in the back of his radio-talking, yellow alien sports car. So, really, she should call Muffy and do some yelling. One simply _did not_ end a dream prematurely when Shia was involved.

Thoroughly disgusted with Muffy, Emma lifted her damn premature alarm clock and speed-dialed. "What," she bark-rasped into it when Muffy answered as distractedly as usual. Only, as she listened, Muffy's distraught and disconnected ramblings quickly turned Emma's anger into… oh… shit. She said as much.

"I don't know what to do!" Muffy blubbered into the phone.

First things first. "Are you sure?" Somehow Emma had difficulty believing Muffy's high tale, but the genuine horror in her friend's voice gave it all credibility as far as Emma was concerned. She just needed confirmation that it wasn't just her overreacting as she sometimes did.

"I don't know!"

"Did you call the cops?"

Muffy's desperate shriek rang in Emma's ear long after it ended. "No! Don't call them, Emma, it's so embarrassing."

Emma rubbed her face. Muffy could be _such_ a drama queen, and that was saying something.

"What should we do?" Muffy asked in a small voice several seconds later.

Well, that was a no-brainer! "You should call the cops!" But as Muffy's protests began in her ear again, Emma sighed. "What did Sasha say?" Sasha being Muffy's little thirteen year-old brother.

Pregnant silence at the other end for a long moment. "He won't talk," Muffy replied hollowly. "Won't say where he got the bruises. But I know–"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Emma replied calmly, surprising herself with her self-possessed state of mind. Since when was she such a cool head? "Okay, look, I know someone who might be able to help."

"Not the cops, Emma," Muffy insisted passionately.

Emma rolled her eyes at her friend's one-track mind. Even if she had to be excused in the moment. "Blair Waldorf."

Muffy made a quizzical noise as if to say "what are you on?"

"Remember that stuff on Gossip Girl a couple years ago about Serena at the Ostroff Centre?" Emma began, knowing Muffy would know right away what she was talking about. Of course, they'd only been obsessed with the website at the time.

"Blew up in her face," Muffy replied dismissively.

"Georgina Sparks?"

Case closed.

#

"Miss Blair? Miss Blair, someone on the–"

"Dorota," Blair's not-so-indulgent and testy morning voice grunted from amid a mountain of pillows. "I told you I have a final today. I need my beauty sleep if I want–" The eye mask was torn off her eyes, light spearing into her eyes.

Her maid's insistent, nearly imperious voice interrupted her mid-sentence, leaving her gaping comically. "Miss Blair, important call from New York. I think you want–"

But Blair had already shot up in bed and torn her cellphone out of her maid's hands by the time Dorota had gotten to "want". Of course she wanted to take that call! All thought of berating her for rudely awakening her fled her mind as she cradled the thing to her ear. Had Chuck's jet landed earlier? If so… "Chuck! You're back early."

"Er." Not Chuck's voice. Feminine. Vaguely familiar. "It's Emma Gorbman," the voice said, adding uncertainly, "The body open for business? The Dean's–"

"Niece." Blair's eyebrows knitted tightly together even as she threw her vanishing maid a death glare. _Why_ had Chuck bought Dorota from her mother's service anyway? The woman obviously took orders from "Mister Chuck" and schemed behind her back whenever some kind _male_ soul helped her out. Where did her loyalties lie? She'd have to have a good talk with her – _if_ she could find her after pulling this not-so-funny stunt – and Chuck – Dorota _wasn't_ his maid. Hers! Hers only!

"Er, hi. You wouldn't happen to call to demand I find someone to pluck your flower, would you?" Blair asked carefully. The she-devil had sure been a handful to keep in line but Blair thought she might have learned her lesson when she saw that… that tulip-ed freak.

Her young interlocutor burst out in peeling laughter. "No, no, nothing like that." Of course not. She even sounded rather more mature than before their little talk. "But… I'm not a virgin anymore if you care to know. He was no Serge."

Blair smiled at the self-deprecating humour and lack of juvenile triumph in the girl's words. Good for her. "No details, please."

"I wouldn't." Another good, mature thing. But it still didn't explain her call in the first place… unless she wanted to thank Blair for making her wait for the right guy? "Listen, I need to ask you a favour."

"Another one?" Saving her hymen hadn't been enough?

Emma hesitated on the line. "Yeah. You remember my friend Muffy?"

Uh oh. That didn't bode well. "What did she bet this time?"

Emma was quick to reply. "It's nothing like that." A pause, as if she were gathering her thoughts. "Look, I've seen what you can do on Gossip Girl."

Blair worried her lip, wondering what exactly the kid was getting at. She'd done a lot of things she wasn't that proud of. Other things… Well. Sweet revenge did taste very sweet indeed. "I'm not in high school anymore," Blair ventured carefully. Despite the fact that she did like to keep up-to-date on the happenings in New York every once in a while. Nothing wrong with knowing the people she went to social events with. She'd bet anything Chuck checked the website, too, to find out what his investors' kids could reveal about their parents' morals or lack thereof.

"Right. But you're good, Blair. You're thorough. Clean. _Discreet_." And that last seemed to be the most important.

Quite helpless against her natural curiosity, Blair leaned forward as though the girl was right in front of her. Belatedly she realised she was facing _away_ from New York anyway. Whatever. "What did Muffy get herself into?"

"It's not Muffy," Emma said hollowly.

Blair rolled her eyes. Now what? The tart's friend-of-a-cousin-of-a-friend?

"It's her little brother," Emma whispered into the phone. "She thinks her stepfather's… forcing him." At Blair's silence she added, strained, "But he won't say anything and she won't call the police."

A beat passed, and then carefully, almost like an automaton, numbly, Blair picked up the notebook and pen she'd left on her nightstand, and stared at the pointed tip of her pen as she clutched it hard between her fingers. Hard enough to snap. "Give me his name," she nearly snarled. "The stepfather."

#

There was a saying about studying for an exam: one should never cram on the last day. Rather, one should steadily study throughout the weeks before the exam, and then relax on the day of, because the knowledge was already there and ready to be called to memory. Blair, as usual, had diligently recopied her notes, done all the proposed preparatory exercises, and studied more than enough to know the material by heart, back to front and back again.

She spent the few hours before her Management exam snacking lightly and researching a certain Martin Woodard, before leaving Chuck an enticing email with all her findings and Emma's number to call for details. Doing so, she checked the time one last time. He would be over the Pacific at this moment. Good. "Dorota," she called, "I'm going to my exam now. Wish me luck!"

Dorota's voice preceded her as she appeared from the kitchen, washcloth in hand. "Of course, Miss Blair. You do well now."

Blair grinned loftily. "I will," she replied matter-of-factly, because of course she would. She didn't have A's for nothing!

On the way to Yale, Blair's head swam with numbers and newspaper articles. What she wouldn't give for those three hours of examination to be over. Sighing, she took out her formula sheet – the only material besides her calculator allowed – and reviewed in her head even as she burrowed comfortably in the back of the car Chuck had offered her shortly after Dorota graced her with her helping and scheming-behind-her-back presence in her apartment. Hm. She still hadn't had that talk with Dorota. Blair filed that task away for later. First, Management exam. Then, Martin Woodard. Then, maybe she could enjoy the holidays with Chuck. And her family, of course.

Time to focus on Management.

#

A small snowfall later, Blair finally braved the creeping cold and ran all the way to the waiting car at the end of the long walkway. Mentally she noted she'd have to shop for a warmer winter coat, especially with the prospect of spending all her holidays in New York – her father and Roman would fly in for a true family Christmas a week before the day. And there was the Martin Woodard business to take care of beforehand.

"Home, Fred."

"Of course, Miss Waldorf. The exam went well?" he asked conversationally, pulling away from the snow-laden curb.

"Demanding, but I did very well," Blair replied confidently just as her waist pocket began vibrating and chirping with the arrival of a new text message. Fishing it out – Chuck would have just landed – Blair read his first communication in a few days with growing excitement.

_How was exam? Sending you plane after refuel. Called Emma. We need plan of attack asap. – C_

Dialing Dorota's number, Blair excitedly urged the maid to start preparing her luggage immediately, refusing to let her know where exactly she was going. Then again, Chuck had probably texted Dorota _before_ Blair to get the maid on the ball early. Bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: I don't know what's going on with me, but I'm definitely enjoying being on a roll. Ya'll have my being out of school since last week to thank :) But without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

**THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS, part two**

He met her just outside the aircraft, relaxed stance betraying trepidation in the way his knee jerked nervously beneath his long plaid trench coat. Yet when she looked up after climbing down the stairs and her eyes lit up, he pushed away from his limousine and marched over to gather her in his arms.

"Hi," she greeted, pulling away to gently swat at some snowflakes caught in his hair. He'd obviously been waiting a while.

"Long time no see." He smirked, tucking her arm in his to guide her toward the waiting limousine a few feet away.

"Mm," she said agreeably as they slid in. "Sorry I didn't reply, by the way. Dorota kept me awake all night getting my things ready."

Chuck snorted even as he tapped the partition to signal their presence to his chauffeur. The limo immediately began moving. Chuck turned back to her. "More like _you_ kept her awake. Poor thing."

"_Speaking of!_" Blair began hotly in mock-outrage, now that she was given the chance to rant about the pesky maid. "I know you're using Dorota to make my life a living hell."

"Oh?" Chuck replied faux-innocently, the grin giving him away far too easily. "And how might I do that? _From my offi_-"

Blair cocked an unamused brow. Oh, that one wouldn't slide this time. "You forget who you're talking to, Bass."

Chuck leaned in teasingly. "So do you," he said, a hairsbreadth away from her lips, before pressing his mouth to hers.

"You pay her to be infuriating, admit it," Blair muttered stubbornly between welcoming kisses.

"I do no such thing. I can be infuriating on my own," he replied, licking her bottom lip ever so enticingly to prove his point. It tingled even afterward. "Ever consider she could be infuriating on her own?"

Blair rolled her eyes, drawing away and doing her level best to pout while Chuck merely leered at her. "I know she is," she said, "but she doesn't normally _plot_ against me. That _your_ expertise, if memory serves. So what's your goal?"

Chuck's grin widened infinitesimally, but he remained silent for a long, agonising beat. "Maybe she doesn't want you forgetting New York. Maybe she just misses New York and Vanya," he reasoned smoothly. "Did you consider that, Blair?"

She stuck out her tongue. "You're so insufferable!"

His eyes crinkled in playful amusement as he sat back comfortably against the leather, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye. "See? Told you so."

"Ugh!" Blair threw out her hands helplessly. There was no hope whatsoever for this one. _Why_ did she find it so disarming?

She snorted to herself at that. The _unanswerable_, million-dollar question. Or, in this case, billion-dollar…

"And you should have thought about Vanya before you bought her out!"

#

"I must say, I'm amazed at what you were able to get on him," Chuck said a short while later after he'd thoroughly reviewed what Blair had sent him. Steepling his fingers over the keys, he watched her over the top of his screen as she leaned back against the serving table in the lavishly decorated dining room.

It was just as she'd imagined, actually. Large bay windows offered a breathless view of the city. The postmodernist, bold splashes of colour blended effortlessly with the baroque opulence of curlicued wallpaper and earthy tones. And then the man who personified that blend himself.

Blair pushed away, coming to stand behind him. "I learned a thing or two last time." Chuck's shoulders relaxed under her hands as she began kneading tight knots out of his muscles. "I must say, though, I thought you'd need a more… attractive bait to go with this," she added, leaning closer to his ear.

Chuck's shoulders rolled smoothly under her fingertips, and for a moment she saw his eyes flutter closed. "I spent a month in Greece making sure my money went with the right construction workers… I need a break."

Blair smiled privately as she resumed her fairy work. "Is that all there is to it?" she demanded coyly.

Chuck's head fell back just as his hand grasped her head and drew her in for a searing kiss. "Maybe not." He grinned devilishly against her lips. "Maybe I like fighting crime."

Swatting his head playfully, Blair mock-pouted even as she rounded on him, slithering onto his lap. Chuck's hands easily found their mark to her hips. She most possibly had him right where she wanted him. "And maybe you missed me so much you sent your jet to come and get me at first light a couple days early," she whispered into the shell of his ear, then drawing back to see him mouth twist in an almost guilty way. Almost.

He poked her button nose. "You didn't seem to mind at the time," he pointed out.

Notching her chin higher, Blair almost couldn't contain the laughter that threatened to bubble up and give away her (admittedly poor) haughty act. "Maybe I just like the royal treatment," she managed with her best arrogant air.

He called her on it immediately, fingers stroking her back deliciously so that she arched into him infinitesimally. "Liar," he whispered hotly into the warm crook of her neck.

Blair released a betraying sigh. "Am not."

Her phone rang before he could say anything more, and the haze lifted from her eyes as he reached down into her purse. "It's Emma," he announced starkly, watching as she shifted slightly – primly – on him to answer the call.

"Hello Emma… I'm actually in New York now… Yes, we should meet." Then, focusing on Chuck's narrowed, intense gaze on her and the soft brush of his fingertips at the small of her back, Blair cocked a brow and added, "By the way, you remember Chuck Bass? He'll be helping us get to the bottom of this." She laughed at something Emma said, then brushed Chuck's hair to the side fondly. "Yes, like, the devil. That's Chuck."

Chuckling, Chuck's palms dipped lower over her backside, and he laughed outright when she squeaked and swatted them, glaring daggers at him even as she answered the other girl.

"Oh, trust me, what you read was nothing. He and I do some fine work together… when he's not being insufferable. Good, we'll see you there!" Snapping her phone shut, Blair then pursed her lips at him in exasperation before extricating herself from him. "We're meeting her and Muffy at the Russian Tea Room in an hour. Can you behave yourself?"

"Do you have a leash? That'd be hot."

#

"So I went to wake Sasha for his tennis practise and he… he was walking all funny," Muffy finished on an embarrassed whisper, checking the surrounding tables suspiciously. They were seated in a corner away from other patrons.

Blair pursed her lips in irritation at the secrecy act. If anything, they were probably attracting more attention to themselves being so hush-hush.

"Groggy?" Chuck suggested skeptically.

Muffy shook her head, tight curls flying in all directions and a flustered blush splotching her cheeks. "More like… in pain," she replied awkwardly, raising her eyebrows in a way that was supposed to be meaningful yet didn't exactly specify the exact circumstances. "He wouldn't talk when I approached him about… that."

Blair bit her lip and squinted thoughtfully. The correct angle to start with wasn't by pestering the kid. He'd most likely clamp up rather than happily give away the full details of who-what-when-how if Muffy was even right. And if she wasn't, well. There was such a thing called privacy and he could have fallen on his tailbone for all they knew. And really, it wasn't about the boy's ass to begin with, but about the possible bastard behind the possible situation.

"Your mother married Martin Woodard two months ago, correct?" Muffy nodded, frowning in confusion – hadn't they just been talking about her brother? "How does Sasha act around him and did his behaviour change at any time in the past?"

Ah, now it made more sense. Muffy's eyes lowered as she thought back to when her mother had first introduced the man to her and her brother. "We've both been pretty guarded with him since the beginning. This is mom's third marriage since dad…" She pursed her lips, evidently unwilling to go into detail. Blair and Chuck wouldn't mention they knew he'd divorced their mother for his younger, bustier secretary – the neverending cycle of dog-eat-bitch on the Upper East Side. Obviously the ties weren't cut smoothly for there to still be hard feelings after eight years.

"Has your stepfather acted untoward with Sasha? Made lewd comments?" Blair pushed gently after a small lull.

"Touched him?" Chuck added, focused intently on Muffy's facial expressions to detect any unguarded hints at semi-answers.

Squirming under their dual intense stares, Muffy turned to Emma, who hadn't said a word since they'd walked in. The latter smiled encouragingly at her friend. "I – I mean they talk and Martin's trying to do father-son things with my brother. Sasha kind of… tags along because mom asks him to. For the _family_," she added sardonically, making airy quotation marks with her fingers.

"Touch? Lewd comments?" Chuck reminded her, eyes studying her even more closely.

Muffy sighed, rubbing her face wearily. "I don't know. He doesn't talk to me much anymore."

Chuck's lips twisted thoughtfully. At Sasha's age, thirteen, a boy started to want to break away, thought puberty was both the shit and the bane of his life, and tended to reject too much mommying. Not that Chuck had any experience with that. But he'd seen other kids start to need space to breathe away from the harassing dulcet tones of the females in their lives. To look at other men as role models.

Martin Woodard was a man; he obviously recognised the stage in Sasha's life and, in his quest to win his new wife's kids over, was probably at least using the boy's search for a male mould as the perfect dangling carrot. That may be all there was to Sasha's behaviour – and the funny walk was due to a bad fall at tennis practise. Nothing to worry about.

To be honest, Blair hadn't been able to dig up _gold_ dirt. The usual: bad investment made better through the right last-minute contacts, caught smoking pot in college, spent a couple hundred with exotic dancers in his early thirties… Nothing to write mother about.

"But Sasha's always been close to me," Muffy resumed in a determined voice. "Mom went through a bad patch when dad left and left us to our au pair a lot." She hugged herself, even though the restaurant and even their spot by the windows were kept quite warm. "I've always been there for him. He knows he can talk to me. Anything that bothers him."

Chuck made a doubting grimace. "The situation in this case is a bit… delicate." He sought Blair's eyes, seeking her opinion. Seeming to find what he'd been looking for, he nodded at Muffy. "We'll do our best."

"Keep it–" the girl began desperately, flushing quite literally of colour.

"Discreet," Blair finished, laying her hand on the girl's trembling one. _My God_, she thought, _this terrifies her_.

"It'd be so embarrassing if–" she trailed off. "I don't want to think badly of–"

Chuck's eyes narrowed as he stood, holding Blair's coat up for her to easily slip into. "No one's a saint. We'll just have to see how much of one he's not. So far… he's fairly tainted but not enough."

Swallowing, Muffy sought Emma's hand for comfort. Then she found her voice, however husky for emotion it was. "How – what do you mean?"

Blair slid into her coat, accepting Chuck's arm around her waist, then quietly informed the trembling girl of all they'd found in few words. When she was done filling her in, she tapped Muffy's hand, adding, "We'll let you know when we learn something new." With that she then followed Chuck outside into the gusting winds and fluttering snow of mid-December to slip into his waiting limousine.

#

"Two bedrooms," Blair drawled as she weaved amongst her luggage to inspect the room Chuck had designated as hers. Creams and dreamy blues, and she almost sighed at the calm she found in the overall airiness. Chuck knew her too well, she decided right then and there. Whirling back to face him, she found him leaning lightly on the jamb, a smile hovering at the edge of his lips. "Surprising, Bass. I might have expected a more… intimate arrangement."

He shrugged in an almost disaffected manner. "Someone insisted I sleep at a hotel last month when I visited. If anything, my hospitality out-trumps yours."

Blair came to stand before him again. As her hands slithered around his waist, she felt his body react in subtle ways: lean muscles uncoiling underneath her fingertips, hips seeking hers as his palms quite naturally found their place on her waist, guiding her body to his. "I wasn't aware this was another one of your games," she whispered, a breath away from his lips, carefully searching his eyes for an old part she wasn't sure she could play against anymore. Or maybe she could. With Chuck, everything was sinuous, muddy spirals instead of clear, straight lines. Or… she didn't know anymore.

A flicker of a shadow – guilt, shame, pity all rolled into one – passed over Chuck's features at her words, soon replaced with his lips pressing insistently against hers, silently seeking forgiveness without words he couldn't voice anyway. "No game, Waldorf. Just a room," he said quietly at length, finally opening his eyes. Dark depths stared back at her even as he smirked wanly. "Though you're more than welcome in mine."

With a cry, Blair swatted his arm indignantly and pushed him out forcefully, slamming the door in his face.

His smarmy voice still came at her through it. "I love it when you play rough, Blair."

_Argh!_ Blair looked for a sharp object lest he walk back in, but the ass had planned the room to a tee. Falling to a seething sitting position on the down coverlet of the queen bed, she glared sharp pointy objects when the door opened a crack to let in Chuck's head.

"I have to drop by Victrola for a minute. Paperwork and the like. Want to tag along?" _Strip to your slip, maybe?_

"No."

He nodded sagely. "Make yourself at home, Blair. I called my P.I. earlier. I might have an email from him, and you're welcome to look through what I could find." The door clicked shut after him, and then the suite's as well.

How could Blair resist?

#

He found her sprawled next to his open laptop, the monitor long gone to the revolving Bass Industries logo screensaver.

What had been supposed to be a quick minute trip to jot down his name on several dotted lines had quickly transformed into an hour-long tour during which the building manager pointed out what needed repairs and maintenance necessities, as well as the adamant need to enlarge the backstage area for the performers who, thanks to thriving business, were growing in number. Wire transfers were arranged, meetings with designers planned – "and why not do a complete rehaul while we're at it?" – and lists of potential investors quickly pored over before being slipped into his briefcase to investigate later.

By the time Chuck had been done talking to everyone who needed to talk to him, an hour and a half had gone by. Slipping backstage for a brief moment, he said a quick hello to the performers familiar and new, clapped the backs of the musicians who'd been there pretty much from the start, and then finally slipped out a half hour later. Hence Blair falling asleep on… he logged in… a PDF his P.I. had sent.

"Blair? Wake up, princess."

She stirred, stretching groggily. Eyes fluttering open before settling on him, she then glanced at the clock behind him and smirked a derisive one. "A minute?"

He slipped into the seat beside her, sighing long-sufferingly. "All work and no play, I'm afraid."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, then grinned, bringing up a document on the screen. "Well _I_ had some play. Did you know Muffy's birth name is Mellifanny?"

Chuck focused on the birth certificate before him, making an indeterminate sound in his throat. "No wonder she goes by Muffy," he commented dryly. "Not that it's any better. What did my excellent private investigator get on the stepfather?"

Her smile turned sour, then she clicked into a folder, choosing a file to expand on the screen. "Seems he's involved in some sketchy online activities. Look at page two, line thirteen."

Interest piqued, Chuck followed her directives, scrolling down to the transaction she pointed out. "Huh," was his only response.

"I mean, not that it's that uncommon for healthy men to…" Blair trailed off awkwardly, and he noticed she wouldn't meet his eyes straight on. "It's normal to belong to a group like that, right? Even I–" She clamped her mouth shut belatedly. Quite comically, in fact. "I mean I don't – I'm not a member of any–"

Chuck nearly laughed aloud at her quirky discomfort. As it was, he just tapped her hand indulgently and… maybe he couldn't help the drawl from slipping into his voice. "Relax, Waldorf. I won't tell a soul you like looking at naked men. Long as you can't see their faces. And they're not blond."

Properly red-faced, Blair sulked and glared forward, refusing to look at him at all. "Shut up."

She felt him come closer more than saw or eve heard him. "Struck a chord?" he whispered silkily in her ear, nuzzling the tender flesh behind it deliciously.

Blair suppressed a shiver and a sigh with difficulty. "They're all blond," she grated out between her teeth.

"Sure," he drawled smugly before drawing away cheerfully, calling out her lie with his mere tone. As though nothing was the matter, he palmed his cell, speed-dialing to a number she couldn't see. "Eric, hi. Are you busy? Good. Crack your knuckles, I got you a fun job. Track down any suspect activities by the following ISP address." He rattled off a series of numbers and dots, then added, "Guy's interested in college hunks, apparently, but boys as well it seems." A pause, then," I'm asking _you_ because you're my little brother and I know hacking is your secret guilty pleasure. Now chop-chop happily away." Snapping his phone shut, Chuck cut off any protests Eric van der Woodsen might have been in the middle of sputtering.

Chuck looked up into reproachful brown eyes. "Now what?"

"It's illegal."

Chuck smiled coyly. "We never did play by the rules."

"Chuck…" Danger approached.

Far from being deterred, he glanced at his wristwatch. Aha, excellent getaway. "Look at the time. My table at Gilt is ready."

Mouth twisting in barely-checked animosity, Blair stood up nonetheless but stabbed his chest with a blood-red painted finger even as he prodded her backward. "I'm not done with you."

"Thank God." Ah, his little hellcat… Chuckling, Chuck urged her to the door with a hand at the small of her back. "Looking forward to your sniping, Waldorf."

"I'm sure you are… masochist."

_Touché_, Chuck thought only half seriously to himself.

* * *

**Author's note**: As you might have noticed from my previous fics, I _thoroughly_ enjoy banter and innuendo. That is all. And more next chapter, of course ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note**: Before I begin, let me make myself plain since I forgot to do this at the end of last chapter: I do not condone hacking. At all.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chap because I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and by the end I got a really good hang on what should happen so :)

* * *

**THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS, part three**

_Please say we're almost there. Please say we're almost there.  
'Cause I can't move another inch. Can't feel my legs._

_- Greycoats, Watchman, What is Left of the Night?_

Chuck regarded her moving in her bedroom, flitting really, through half-lidded eyes. the fact that she was in her bathrobe and that it hugged her curves even with the slip underneath the flimsy material had almost nothing to do with it. The truth of it was, he'd barely slept the previous night, what with the plane ride and then waiting for Blair to land. Naps here and there did not a night replace.

"Is that all?" he sighed before suppressing a yawn. He had a feeling she wasn't done, actually.

"No!" she cried, fluffing her pillows and then digging into her suitcase for God knew what. Ah, tomorrow's outfit. "Isn't there a more _legal_ way to do all that, Chuck?"

"We're not cracking the Pentagon here, Blair," Chuck sighed, leaning more fully on the jamb.

Blair held up two pressed woollen pencil skirts against the silvery blouse she held up against her chest with her chin. "Turquoise or dark pink?" Chuck jerked his head at the dark pink, making a mental note to find his pink-cuffed blazer. "Maybe not, but it still doesn't make hacking right."

"Rest assured, Eric is _discreet_ and won't wreak havoc on poor unsuspecting Woodard. He won't even notice a thing."

Blair pursed her lips dubiously. "He could still get caught."

Chuck rubbed his eyes, releasing the pressure building behind them. "A good investigator uses every means possible," he said monotonely, thinking that much should be obvious to her.

Blair surprised him when she didn't berate him again. Instead, her voice was closer when she spoke again. "Is that what we are?" she asked, a smile in her voice and her face when he opened his eyes. She stood right in front of him, slipping her arms around his neck.

"I guess," he replied, accepting the soft press of her body without question.

Her eyes searched his for a long moment while he made a concerted effort to stay awake. Then she made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "Okay, fine, put Eric on it. Our guy looks sketchy anyway." Then she frowned at him. "Chuck, you're about to fall asleep on me."

A wan smirk stretched Chuck's lips. _Ya think?_ But… "Princess, if I were on you I wouldn't be–"

She guffawed, pushing him backwards in the right direction – out of her room. "Get out!" When he merely swayed on the spot, she added sternly, "Bed, Chuck."

Chuck contemplated pointing out that her bed was closest, but she was right, actually. He was essentially dead on his feet. "Goodnight, Blair," he yawned, making his way dutifully to the master bedroom across the hall. He didn't crack a joke to himself as usual about the _double-entendre_ behind the word "master". He passed out as soon as he hit his Egyptian eight-count.

#

"Chuck? Chuck, breakfast is ready."

The figure peeking out of the mound of blankets grunted, moving sinuously away from Blair's quiet voice. Even so, seconds later a cool hand jammed onto his forehead, making him recoil deeper into the warmth of his little nest of comfort.

"You should eat, Chuck. It's almost noon."

Wouldn't beat his record, Chuck thought fleetingly to himself before making an effort to get up. Yawning, he stretched out, then peeked at her out of a bleary eye. Judging by the strain and sting he could feel in it, he'd wager it was bloodshot or would soon be. "Morning," he greeted, wincing at the scratch in his throat.

She'd laid the tray at the foot of his bed. Breakfast in bed… the best. "Good night?" she inquired distractedly as she poured milk from a porcelain pitcher into a bowl of muslix, then another.

"Slept like a baby."

Passing him a bowl and spoon, she considered him a moment before digging in. "Good. Looks like you needed it."

"Seems I did," he agreed quietly.

Their crunching reigned over the silence for a moment before she pointed her spoon at him. "Do you have to go work today?"

"I'm meeting an interior designer for Victrola later, but I was thinking we could check in with Eric and see what he's got on Woodard." Thoughtfully he bit into a grape, sucking the juice before speaking again. "We should also talk to Sasha or at least…"

"Approach him as friends of Muffy's?" Blair ventured, already knowing where his thoughts were headed. To be perfectly honest, she'd been thinking along the same lines herself. They needed to get a handle on all the players involved. Playing their cards as his sister's friends would get them to hone in on both Sasha and Woodard at the same time to make sense of who-done-what. Character studies, so to speak. "I think the second option's better, but there's one problem." At Chuck's quizzical look she cocked her head. "We're kind of older than Emma and Muffy."

Chuck's slow smile didn't bode well and even made him look like a repressed devil, glad for its little nip out. "I still have my uniform," he drawled, eyeing her up and down," kept for… such purposes. Don't you still have a plaid skirt or three?"

It was wholly unsettling that he knew the exact number.

He looked at her, calculating eyes dressing her from head to toe as though he'd just slipped off her bathrobe and _négligée_. Blair shivered, unconsciously touching the knot of her bathrobe to ensure it hadn't come undone without her knowing. Still her body tingled under his heated gaze, blooming right under her skin. "We can even find you a headband, some killer heels, and red tights to match, too." Despite his relative distance, Blair could almost swear the space between them had closed in on itself. "You did rather like those tights."

Blair swallowed around the dry knot in her throat. "So did you," she breathed, adding nearly imperceptibly under her breath, "off."

When she looked back up, Chuck's eyes burned a brand in her skin as he crawled over to the foot of his bed where she sat with her knees wrapped primly under her. "Especially off," he whispered huskily, voice deeper than usual, before cradling her cheek and leaning in. Blair braced herself against him, grasping the wrinkled silk shirt he'd slept in. His warmth seeped into her fingertips, completely obliterating the cool nip of the air. "But I'm quite partial to them _on_ you, too."

Blair sighed as his mouth moved over her jaw, then to the tender flesh pulsing below, leaving a wet trail that left gooseflesh in his wake. "Only if you wear that horrible scarf," she purred back, seeking the nape of his neck to delve her fingers into the fine hairs that had him shivering at once even as he twisted her around to hover over her.

"Deal," he whispered, wandering hand finding the silken knot of her bathrobe and pushing it open over her thin lilac shift.

Things were moving too fast, Blair realised even as she struggled not to arch into the temptation of Chuck's hot kisses and of her own speeding heart. "Chuck…" she managed finally between his possessive hand stroking her lacy hip deliciously and the intoxicating nips on her earlobe. "Chuck…"

He must have heard the desperation in her voice, because he pulled away with an oath, dilated eyes focusing on her face worriedly. "What–" he started, only to be interrupted by his ringing phone.

Flicking it open without even looking at the name on caller ID, he barked into it. "What." Raking a trembling hand through his hair, he held Blair's wide eyes as she lay before him, coiled as though to spring away. What had he done this time, dammit? Momentarily distracted by her half-frightened features, he belatedly remembered his interlocutor, who was calling his name as though he'd been out of it for a moment. He supposed he had. "Oh, hi Eric… No I'm fine… Good, I'll be there in an hour."

Chuck snapped his phone shut slowly, sitting back on his haunches to await the rejection that was sure to come. When it didn't he cleared his throat, looking further away even than before. Out the window. "So… Eric's on to something."

Releasing a small breath, Blair sat up, feeling all kinds of stupid as she thought of the best way to explain herself. "Chuck, I didn't mean – look at me, Chuck, please," she said imploringly, reaching for his jaw to turn his face to her.

He looked. God, she glowed, thoroughly kissed, and even now she leaned in for another one, sweet and light.

"I just don't want to go too fast, Chuck. Not this time."

Chuck shut his eyes a moment, then climbed off the bed completely, releasing a whooshing, calming breath. "I'll, uh, I won't be long. You should get ready too." And with that he disappeared in the connected bathroom and shut the door behind him. A moment later she heard the shower running.

Blair swallowed hard and dallied just a moment longer to let the tension loosen in her body. Damn, what had she just done?

#

The ride to the van der Woodsens' new living quarters – a new Bass acquisition at the edge of Manhattan – was silent most of the way. Remorse kept eating at Blair while Chuck just stared out like an unblinking statue. Blair, on the other hand, fidgeted, played with the artfully ribboned edge of her woollen skirt that matched Chuck's pink blazer cuffs, cleared her throat discreetly, jerked her knee… slowly killing herself wondering if Chuck would finally, _please_ acknowledge the perfect moment she'd absolutely ruined for them both. Shit, he hated her.

"So." She cleared her scratchy throat, yet still he didn't move, though she did detect a small eye movement. He was listening. If anything, she should probably resort to a safer, _neutral_ subject. "Did Eric tell you what exactly he came across?"

"Not really," he mumbled tonelessly.

Blair lay her head against the seat as the limousine came to a full stop at a red light. She sighed, staring at the ceiling. Traffic. They'd likely be here for a while yet. Reaching up, she pressed the button to shut the partition for some privacy, then lay back against the firm headrest. "Are we going to talk about it?"

Chuck took a moment to answer, still tonelessly, "What is there to talk about?"

"Chuck…" Blair sighed in exasperation. He was making it really hard for her.

Chuck matched her sigh, then looked over. There was a calmness about him that she hadn't expected. "I understand, Blair. That's not the problem," he said quietly.

"Then what?" she asked, completely at a loss. She'd actually expected anger, accusations of "tease" and "cock-blocker", but nothing like the almost serene dejection he pursed his lips, then resumed staring outside. When he answered, it was almost resignedly, like it had been torn out of him by force. "I don't want to screw up," he muttered under his breath, probably hoping she wouldn't hear.

She heard. Read him clearly at last. Scooted closer to grasp his clasped hand. "Me neither, Chuck."

Blair had been the only one to break his habit of one-night stands, yet even then they'd never really talked about anything but pure physical release though, at least in Blair's mind, he'd been so much more than her enabler. He'd been… the release to everything she'd always been but repressed. He'd made her bloom, made her entire being feel alive. His touch awakened; his eyes never lied when they quietly spoke of beauty; his body warmed her till she burned; his lips lay sole claim on her. And she'd done the same, until it had scared them both when they missed it. And it hadn't just been her body craving him. Her heart had hurt, too. And it had scared her even more.

She'd wanted to die. And then she'd applied herself to forgetting him after high school. Nevermind the fact that it had been impossible. At least she'd managed just fine on her own.

Yet now they'd been given another chance, and by God they weren't going to screw it up. Hence Chuck's misguidance where love, relationships and sex were concerned. He had no clue. Neither did she, to be honest.

"We'll figure this out," she whispered, fingers tightening over his just as he leaned in to kiss her. As he pulled away, however, she held his coat lapels to keep him close, and her heart burned. "I want you, Chuck. God, I want you."

Dark eyes flared as they held hers, intense, wide. "But I thought–"

Blair shook her head, silencing him with a look. "But this is too important."

Chuck swallowed hard, and then he lay his head back against the leather seat, taking a deep breath. "Well, we both know how much I want you," he said wryly, and Blair chuckled when she beheld the bulge in his pants.

The limo stopped in front of an unfamiliar building. Chuck groaned darkly before getting out without a word, without even waiting for his chauffeur, who merely shrugged and went to help Blair out instead.

As she joined him at the elevators, Blair slid her hand into his in concern, murmuring, "I'm sorry, Chuck."

The elevator dinged its arrival, and Chuck punched a button more forcefully than necessary. "I don't mean to sound like an asshole, Blair," he began with an inward cringe, "but can you please not talk or touch me for the next twenty-three floors?"

#

"Blair?"

A very surprised Eric was left gaping after Chuck as the latter brushed past him and right into his bedroom where a veritable mother ship of a computer rumbled quietly, waiting for its master.

"Are you two… You're in on this thing? What's with him?"

Blair stood wearily from her seat on the settee and shook her head before following wordlessly after Chuck. This was something the astute boy definitely did not need to know. Nevermind the fact that staying silent probably told him a lot.

"O… kay…" And he followed the twosome to his pride of a recently custom-built tower that had taken months to get just right. "Right," he mumbled, typing a few keys to revive the sleeping machine. "So I'm guessing you're… working together on this?"

Blair nodded when Chuck wouldn't come away from the window where he'd stationed himself or answer. He simply scowled.

Eric peered at her over his shoulder for a second, Cece's piercing eyes studying her and definitely understanding the situation and all its facets. "Right. Anyway." He clicked on his desktop, bringing up an image of a program window that lacked any user-friendliness. "Your guy's into some pretty… interesting stuff. Covers his tracks, or so he thinks, but the thing is, the data that comes into a computer is never completely erased, even after cleaning temporary files and cookies."

"We know, kid," Chuck muttered, making an impatient hand gesture that was reflected in the window.

Smothering a grin, Eric enlarged the image full of numbers and dots and names that made no sense to Blair, until he reached one of several rows he'd highlighted. "See these numbers and dots? That's the IP address you buy when you register a domain name. It basically indicates where the website can be found on a server, where in the world, that kind of stuff, and refers to the site because otherwise it'd be difficult to remember that 74 . 14 . 205 . 100 is google . com, for example."

Blair nodded, leaning over closer to read the numbers displayed on the screen. "What URL does that IP address refer to?"

"A heavily protected porn forum where–" Eric broke off, hesitating. "Guys, it doesn't look good," he said carefully.

Finally Chuck turned to face them, and walked over behind Eric resolutely. "Show us."

Fingers hovering over the keys only for a moment, Eric bit his lip and pulled up a web client Blair had never seen before, then quickly typed the address apparently from memory. Some text appeared, from suggestive to all-out raunchy, and then pictures began popping randomly over the screen.

Blair swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Chuck stared fixedly, clenching and unclenching his fists involuntarily. Then she coughed. "Excuse me." And she disappeared in the bathroom, taking deep breaths to stop the upward flow.

Martin Woodard was evidently one sick bastard and needed to see some solid iron bars for the rest of his life.

* * *

**Author's note**: Oooh, suspense. What sick activities is Woodard involved in?

Anyone lost with all the geek talk? I mean, I don't think it's that difficult to understand but of course I'm a web/graphic design student so it's pretty much a yawn. If you need further explanation, just ask, I won't bite :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: A lot of people have been pestering me, and admittedly it's been bothering me that I couldn't seem to get out of my writer's block. I think I've stepped out of it (for now). Enjoy this chap! It took me a while to figure out how to go where I want this to be going, but I think I've figured it out *crosses fingers*

**THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS, part four**

_And you can hear the siren's song, you can hear the siren's song  
But it's not where you belong (sail on)_

_- Greycoats, Watchman, What is Left of the Night?_

Priceless clothes rustled as Chuck knelt next to her on the hard, cold tiles, a gentle hand holding her hair back at the nape of her neck and the other rubbing soothing circles across her back. Silent, as always. He'd never talked all those countless times before, years before, and it was likely he wouldn't start talking this time either. She felt the coiled tension in him, however, a dark shadow that hung over them both, but especially over her.

"I'm fine," she whispered when she could control her erratic breathing again.

The calm, drawn-out strokes continued for a moment before he finally spoke. "Good. We'll get him, Blair." Promise underlay his words.

She nodded, then breathed in deeply and met his eyes. Unspoken relief and gratefulness passed like a current between them before he tugged her to her feet and back to Eric who awaited them at the jamb. "You okay?" he asked in evident concern.

All of it drew Blair right out of that dark realm of possibility. She nodded wordlessly, squeezing the hand that still held her tightly. Yes, they'd get the bastard, but only if she could hold it together. She had to face demons.

"Okay," she began with renewed strength as she stared right at the pictures on the screen without even a flinch of disgust. "What else have you got on this guy?"

Eric shared a quick surprised glance with Chuck, but shrugged and decided to let it go. "He does a lot of charity work with kids from poor families."

Chuck nodded knowingly, intensely focused. "Perfect pick-up playground," he advanced. "Gets him right up close and personal."

"And he can crush them easily if they decide to talk," Blair added, then frowned and shook her head, as though to rid herself of the unpleasant images those thoughts conjured.

"You have to appreciate the genius in what he's doing," Chuck murmured thoughtfully, feeling Blair's sharp gaze turn on him instantly. He shrugged. "He thought of everything, right down to the last detail."

Eric nodded with a wistful sigh. "Yeah, this guy was firewalled to the bone. He's protecting his ass like you wouldn't believe."

There was a lull after that statement, until Chuck suddenly nodded, as though coming out of a trance, and clapped Eric on the back. "Well, thanks Eric, that was certainly _very_ enlightening." Catching Blair's eye, he jerked his chin minutely toward the door in a querying sort of way. _You ready?_

The younger boy swivelled in his commander's chair and beamed at the pair. "Anytime. Seriously, call if you need me to dig deeper."

Chuck smirked fondly at his little brother. "Who needs private eyes when you've got a little brother?" he mused aloud as he led Blair out with a light hand at the small of her back. "Sure, go ahead and check him out more deeply."

#

"Next step?" Blair wondered aloud once they were safely ensconced in his limousine again. Small flecks of snowflakes clung loosely to their wool coats from their small jaunt just out the building and straight away back into the vehicle.

Chuck lowered the partition a moment. "Home," he instructed his chauffeur before pressing the button to separate them once again. Then he turned to Blair, eyes assessing her every facial feature. "I have a meeting at Victrola in an hour," he reminded her. "You want to meet with the girls, let them know what we found?"

Blair checked the time on his wristwatch and frowned. "Lunch break just ended," she remarked, then considered other possibilities. Security had never been very tight at both Constance and St. Jude's. As long as she wore the dark blue and white colours of Constance, no one would be the wiser.

Chuck smirked, correctly reading her thoughts on her face, then pulled out his cellphone and speed-dialed a number before she could even voice concerns. "John, go to the Waldorf-Roses' and pick up Miss Waldorf's plaid skirts and…" He looked askance to Blair for further instructions.

"The cream muslin blouse with a large bow at the neck. My mother's design," she shot off as Chuck related her request.

To which he added his own input with an appraising nod and an artistic eye turned on her. "The lilac braided headband and the plum leather handbag. Ah, and her black damask tights… _what's damask?_" He snapped his phone shut in offended disgust.

Blair laughed a riot, painstakingly smothering her grin to ask, "Headband?"

Chuck, still staring ahead in disapproving silence, didn't reply immediately. His crinkling eyes spoke volumes, however. "Treat for you, Waldorf," he finally said, his voice a tad deeper than previously.

She sat back, chuckling to herself – _liar_. "Question."

"Ask away," Chuck replied agreeably, turning his head to catch her eye with a soft smile.

"Can I touch you now?" she asked, saucy grin and all. At his instantly sober but flared expression, she scooted closer and nudged him playfully. "I'm kidding, Chuck. I just wanted to–"

"Cuddle," Chuck deadpanned, his voice somewhere between grim and uneasy. Nevertheless, his hand slid around her shoulders, holding her against him.

#

"How's this?" Blair stepped out of the bathroom and twirled before Chuck who was gathering and stuffing papers into his leather briefcase.

Chuck looked up and over, and his eyes instantly softened around the edges, a smile dancing along his lips. "Come here," he said, briefcase suddenly forgotten as he stood and extended a palm out to her.

Grinning, Blair sauntered over to him, knee-length plaid skirt swishing and flirting with every movement, until she could slide her arms around his neck. "What do you think," she murmured but didn't really ask. The answer was more than evident in the reverent, gentle hold he had around her waist as his thumbs stroked small circles over the prim, immaculate cream blouse tucked into the waistband of her skirt. He'd never held her any other way, she realised, and the thought warmed her.

Chuck's mouth found her temple. "You're ten times hotter than any Constance girl."

"I _am_ a Constance girl," she pointed out blandly.

"Correction," Chuck interjected. "_Was_." One of his hands snaked around and lower, tugging her closer by the ass. "You're a woman," he said again, ducking his head into her neck, just under the earlobe, and then moving down. The sneak _knew_ that every single inch of her neck was her weak spot, damn him, and he was using the knowledge to his advantage. Once upon a time _she'd_ used it on him, knowing that the anticipation of her reaction would undo _him_. Clever game, back then. Not so fun, now, since they'd agreed…

"A woman on a mission," Blair said, struggling to keep her PG-13 wits about her.

"Mmhm." But he obviously wasn't listening anymore.

_Uh oh._ "Chuck." Rolling her shoulder, Blair hoped to dislodge him so he would get the message: _PG-13, Chuck, PG-13_. Too bad the movement only gave him better access to the other side of her neck. He switched easily. "I need to go…" Blair began. "School…" And then she moaned. Very _last_ thing she ever should have done. The man thrived on moans.

"There's always tomorrow," he murmured thickly against her cool, wet skin before drawing her closer against him.

Blair would have flailed if she could have. Despite it not being a very ladylike move. "No." She put her foot down – literally – and he yelped, disconnecting instantly to nurse his injured foot and hop on his other one. She could finally breathe without… thoughts. "I need to go," she blew out, straightening her blouse and brushing her long headband-adorned hair back into some order. And then she backed away – man was still dangerous. "_You_ need to head to Victrola. Knock them over. Ta ta. And I'll see you when you come pick me up…?" It wasn't even a question.

Chuck nodded wordlessly, fire burning hotly in his eyes still. Oh, God, they wouldn't hold long.

#

Blair strolled right in, much like she always had as a Constance girl… like she owned the place. And, like she always had, the other students parted at her arrival like the Red Sea for Moses. And… for some reason she was thinking in biblical terms.

"Blair?" a familiar voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and as Blair spun around she had to laugh, truly. There, right in the bank of lockers that hers had been during her last year, was Emma's current one. Talk about a coincidence.

"Hi," Blair greeted back, hitching her bookbag higher. The thing was filled to the brim with a bestseller novel recommended by Oprah that past summer – she was falling behind! – and several empty Bass Industries presentation binders that Chuck had lent her, along with the fast-track Marketing, Business and Management notes he'd taken a year ago from online classes. While he'd gone straight into the job unprepared after high school, he'd doggedly worked twice as hard trying to maintain both his legacy and the grades he needed to have the first clue on how to keep the ship afloat. It was an unprecedented feat for Chuck Bass. The man was, obviously, pure brilliance and a half.

"Do you know where Muffy is?" Blair presently asked Emma, who still stared at her as though she'd just stepped in dressed as a Martian with a Hawaiian straw skirt and a large Mexican sombrero. With clown makeup.

Shaking herself, Emma soon launched into a concerned verbal diarrhea. "What's going on? Is Sasha okay? I thought he was in class still. Did you find out if–"

Overwhelmed, Blair put up an arresting hand. One could clearly see why the two girls were best friends. "Calm down," Blair said almost impatiently, "you're making me dizzy! Look, I don't want to explain this twice so please, go find Muffy before someone remembers I don't go here anymore and Gossip Girl has a field day." Not that she particularly cared, but Muffy and Emma would. People would wonder what they were doing with an alumnus outside of Society outings. "I'll be in the girls' bathroom next to the front staircase."

Emma once again stared incredulously at Blair, this time as if she'd grown a crown and wings. "Do you know who Gossip Girl is? Oh my God, if you do, can you–"

Blair briefly considered many options, most of them not very poised. Finally she merely opted for a crack in her patient façade. "I don't! Please, go."

#

"Did you get him?" was the very first thing that Muffy said as her voice preceded her in the cool bathroom.

Blair finished applying a fresh coat of mascara wordlessly, glancing up into the mirror a moment at the redhead who projected anxiety in droves. "It's too early to say," she replied, twisting the black wand back into the bottle and then stashing it back into her bag. Turning, she began speaking again as she leaned back against the aligned sinks. "What we've got is very little, but he's been surfing porn sites. Specifically," she coughed, lowering her voice, "child pornography forums. We've got someone looking more deeply into it – don't worry, Chuck and I trust him implicitly. So, stuff like what he posted and what he visited exactly should be forthcoming, as well as personal computer files."

"You're hacking?" Emma demanded, jaw hanging.

Blair caught herself before she made a face – look professional, not like a squabbling team. Just because she disagreed with Chuck's methods didn't mean they didn't work. "We're just checking, not doctoring his computer," she replied dryly, knowing exactly where Emma was coming from.

"Was Sasha… on that forum?" Muffy asked quietly after a moment.

Blair shook her head. "Not that I know of. There was too much to look at." Wasn't _that_ the understatement of the century.

The girls pondered those grim implications in silence, until a shrill ring broke into the moment. Muffy dazedly fished in her pocket as Emma and Blair looked on. "It's my mother." She flipped it open. "Hi, mom. No, I don't… Really?" Her wide eyes snapped to Blair. "Oh, that's… great, it's great for him… Yeah, can't wait. See you."

Muffy's continued unblinking stare made Blair more nervous than she cared to admit. "What's wrong?" she asked finally.

The younger girl answered in a strange drone. "You're coming to dinner tonight. Chuck just called; he's making a business proposal to my step-dad tonight." She frowned. "Was that pre-arranged and I didn't know about it?"

The sneaky bastard always had to one-up Blair, didn't he.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note**: Just a lot of shrieky fun ;) Hey, I need to let loose okay. My muse likes to go on vacation so I've been strung tight trying to work on this thing. So here goes.

* * *

**THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS, part five**

She'd had to amble aimlessly at the Met checking out the new exhibition as she waited for their last class to be over. Then the girls had met her, the limo was freed of Chuck's clutches, and they had quickly piled in. And now her phone rang and Eric's name popped onto the vibrating thing.

What, so he'd found more incriminating evidence that Martin Woodard was a scumbag paedophile? Hardly news.

"What," she fairly barked into Eric's ear. So maybe a certain Bass had failed to fill her in on a critical development beforehand, namely that they were now attending dinner with the McDonagh-Woodards, and maybe she was a bit cranky in result. Eric didn't have to know, and could assume whatever the hell he pleased. Or maybe Chuck had filled _him_ in. Maybe Eric was calling about more evidence he'd already relayed to Chuck and was only now relaying to Blair out of pity.

Why was she always the last one to know things?

_Okay, exaggeration, you need a sedative._

"Uh, Blair?" Eric's voice was layered with the telltale click-click of his fingers flying over the keys of his mothership. "You need to come here."

"Did Chuck ask you to deflect me?"

There was a moment of baffled silence. "Uh, no..."

"I knew it!" Blair heard his urgent sputters as she snapped her mobile shut. The delegating _coward!_ "Chuck Bass," she muttered to the limousine under her breath, "you dirty-playing ass..."

"Is there a problem?" Emma asked in concern tinged with just a tad of an imminent freak-out on her best friend's behalf – and indeed Muffy was having a little bit of an apoplexy inside if her features were anything to go by – as Blair turned her cool and quickly composed expression on them again.

"Not at all. Not a problem," she assured Emma and, consequently, Muffy, milking serenity for all it was worth. Because inside she was glaring GPS-enhanced daggers through buildings at one Charles Bartholomew Bass.

There wouldn't be a problem at all if Chuck learned to keep her constantly in the loop. Scheming pair be damned if he couldn't. Not to mention "pair" itself.

Ass.

#

Re-introductions were made in the drawing room and Mrs. McDonagh soon commented that her memory must be failing her because she'd thought Blair had graduated "two years ago, wasn't it?"

"You must have me mistaken, Mrs. McDonagh," Blair answered sweetly.

"Two years ago she worried too much about… a boy, wasn't it?" Chuck taunted, a smirk of delight in his eyes at the idea that his girl seethed blackly inside.

Confused looks were traded before Blair bit back warningly with, "In retrospect I think he was definitely not worth it."

Chuck winked, evidently amused at the whole subtle mind game of "who would break first". "Thank God I'm a different sort of man, mm?" he quipped, pressing her to his side on the cozy love seat with an arm slung around her waist.

"Sometimes," Blair breathed icily for his ears only, glaring sweet daggers at him.

"And last year you embraced your inner globetrotter? Queenly treatment in Asia because you couldn't bear to leave my side, right sweetie?" He glanced back indulgently to the older couple. "Budding love, you know." And then he patted her rump, unbeknownst to them.

Blair wanted to slap him, she really did. "And yet I never saw your face," Blair retorted with a saccharine pout, covertly stabbing her Louboutin pump into his loafer.

Muffling his gasp of pain in the nick of time, Chuck barely remembered what they were talking about. _Think._ "Ah yes," he breathed through the pain, "jealousy rears her pretty head. I swear she wanted me to herself every hour of every day to visit the cities."

Martin Woodard gave an easy grin. "Asia is definitely rich in beautiful architecture and history. I'm sure you're not at all sorry."

Mrs. McDonagh cut an unreadable look at her husband that neither Chuck nor Blair could fully understand. There was no time to ponder it, anyhow, because the true object of their visit poked his head in. "Sasha, dear, have you met Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf? Mr. Bass owns –"

"Bass Industries," the youngster answered with a knowing nod before briefly – but firmly – shaking Chuck's hand. "You're here to do business with Martin?"

Chuck inclined his head, piercing eyes locked on the kid at the man's name. Nothing. No reaction. Strange.

Then the kid frowned at Blair's uniform. "You go to Constance?" he queried, eyeing his sister and Emma with an all-encompassing suspicion. "Aren't you a little… old?"

Okay, so maybe the kid lacked tact. As the girls froze next to Blair and Blair slid an uneasy glance to Chuck, the latter… thought fast on his feet and cleared his throat. "The past two years have been pretty tough on Blair," he answered blandly, trying to calculate quickly. From his uniform, Sasha seemed to go to Winston, so he couldn't have ever met Blair outside of grand social affairs where everyone knew everyone but didn't really. So, could he know the truth? That seemed up in the air.

"Yes, boys can be trouble," Blair announced sagely, earning the girls' and Mrs. McDonagh's swiftly agreeing nods. And the males' rolls of the eyes.

"So how did you meet Emma and Mellifanny?"

"_Mother_," was the embarrassed outcry from the latter.

The woman sighed wryly. "Muffy isn't much better, dear, and this is your–"

"Call her Muffin then," Sasha suggested on a guffaw.

The object of attention reddened, a mutinous look directed at her brother. "I'll kill you if you call me that again," she growled darkly, held back only by her snickering best friend. Apparently this was a commonplace occurrence.

"Try. Muffin."

"Kids…" Woodard tried diplomatically, a smile nevertheless fighting its way onto his lips.

"Children!" was Mrs. McDonagh's sharper, but mortified, cry. Face as red as her hair, she glanced at their guests and telepathised the following message: _Please forget this ever happened, please_.

Blinking, Chuck and Blair shared a look. Well. Wasn't this cozy. (Wouldn't it have been awesome?)

To top it off most excellently, the housemaid seemingly appeared out of nowhere and cleared her throat as though there were nothing wrong at all with the scene. "Would you please adjourn to the dining room?"

"Absolutely," squeaked their flustered hostess.


End file.
